


The Devil That Loves Me

by sweetNsimple



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Afterlife, Alexander "Sasha" Kozachenko loves Leon S. Kennedy, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Leon S. Kennedy, Dark Magic, Demon Alexander "Sasha" Kozachenko, Demon Sex, Demon/Human Relationships, Going to Hell, Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Parent Suicide in the Past, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Leon S. Kennedy loves Alexander "Sasha" Kozachenko, M/M, Memory Loss, Most of this Story Happens in the Afterlife, Occult, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Rape Aftermath, Religious Discussion, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple
Summary: PLEASE READ THE TAGS! There are some very dark themes in this story. The tags are not in chronological order, admittedly, so they might be confusing. However, they are ALL accurate. Please let me know if I have forgotten any tags! Also, I would just really like feedback in general. Please speak to me.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Alexander "Sasha" Kozachenko
Comments: 15
Kudos: 12





	The Devil That Loves Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnotherAnon0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/gifts).



> PLEASE READ THE TAGS! There are some very dark themes in this story. The tags are not in chronological order, admittedly, so they might be confusing. However, they are ALL accurate. Please let me know if I have forgotten any tags! Also, I would just really like feedback in general. Please speak to me.

In 2001, Senator Billy Monte and his family, including wife and three children, were taken hostage in Kyzyl, Russia. Due to the purported captors being none other than Umbrella, US-STRATCOM agent Leon Scott Kennedy was charged to single-handedly retrieve them. It was believed that more than one person would attract unwanted attention and that Leon, having had prior experience with Umbrella, would be best suited to take this mission on solo.

They were wrong.

~:~

“Do you read in your spare time, comrade?”

The body at his boot did not reply.

Sergei Vladimir huffed with disdain. “ _Americans_!” he spat. “So cheaply made. So easily broken. I am wasting my valuable time giving you an audience on the last day of your life and you cannot even spare me your attention when I speak to you.” He crouched down on the balls of his heavy boots, hiking his long overcoat over massive thighs. His double-bladed weapon rested lightly above his knee. “There is this writer that I do not care for much. An Englishman who makes science fiction. I have little interest in reading his material. I prefer Pushkin and the like. As you say, the great Russian poets of all time. However, there is this one line this man wrote, Clark, I believe his name was. He said, _Magic is just science we do not understand yet._ ” Sergei played his fingers over the handle of his exotic scimitar, a pleased curl to his mutilated lips. “Great words! I think of them often, now more than ever, as Umbrella now combines the occult with science. And you shall be a part of it! You should be honored.”

His hand moved slightly, just the bend of his wrist. The paper-thin edge of his blade _tap-tapped_ against the body’s broken clavicle, trailing crimson over a bruise-mottled chest and a swollen abdomen. Damaged organs and internal bleeding had made the body appear pregnant. Copious internal assault looked good on the whore.

“If only we could all make such monumental sacrifices for a truly worthy cause,” Sergei murmured more to himself than to the body.

The heavily damaged sacrifice stared into the middle distance. Sergei had had the displeasure of meeting the whore when he had first been captured, a mouthy little brat with very disrespectful opinions of Umbrella. That had been five days and an estimated one hundred copulations ago.

The sex had been meant to add _flavor_ to the sacrifice’s soul. Sergei pondered if the flavor would be spicy, sweet, or salty. Like tears, he decided. He pondered the creatures that would devour such a soul.

Certainly, the whore’s body was no longer fit to feed even a mangy, homeless dog. Days spent split on numerous cocks and forced to perform for a faction of cunts had left the whore covered in semen, juices, piss, shit, and vomit. Dragged out of his temporary abode, he had smelled as if he was already dead and the very passionate way his lovers had treated him had torn him asunder and fractured several bones. Sergei had had to force two of his men to scrub the body down in a horse trough until layers of skin had been rubbed off and the sharpie tally marks on the sacrifice’s back had finally been erased. The tallies had been necessary, Sergei had thought. Otherwise, how else would they keep count of how often the whore had been fucked? The body smelled less of bodily fluids and more like dirty water now, a slight improvement. In the cold air of Russia, the body was turning blue with a chill, tendrils of greasy hair freezing together.

Sergei supposed someone should have kept watch while the body was fucked, but, truly, his main focus had been on adding as much _flavor_ as quickly as possible. After having done his own duty and fucked the smarmy whore open for the rest of his mercenaries and guests to follow, he had only commanded that a strict count be kept.

Now that he considered this, he realized that the number of times the sacrifice had performed could have been… smudged, somewhat. He certainly appeared to be a very well-used whore. Likely some mercenaries had come back for fourths or fifths. Perhaps more. Admittedly, the last two days had been hard to find willing partners for the whore – his stench had been wholly offensive.

Sergei was showing much more respect to the body than the body had showed any of them just by being at his side during his last hour.

The sacrifice continued to look into a void unseen by Sergei. He thought that the whore already had one foot in Hell.

Well. It would only be polite to help him completely across the threshold.

He stood to his full, imposing height.

A pity that they had had to do this. He allowed himself a second of regret. The itty bitty body – itty bitty compared to him, anyway – had been impossibly tight around his cock that first day. Like a virgin, Sergei had supposed even then, and despite that he thought of virgins as a myth quite like unicorns. He would have liked to have kept the body to himself for awhile longer, until he learned to serve the Colonel meekly and politely like a good boy.

Sergei let the moment pass. He had made much greater sacrifices for Umbrella, for his country, and this was only a passing fancy in comparison.

He gestured for his two Ivans to drag the body to the alter. As splintered bones were grabbed and pulled and the sacrifice was dragged over snapped twigs and sharp pebbles, he continued to not react to the world around him.

If this had broken him, Sergei thought with amusement, then Hell would grind him to dust.

It mattered not in the end. Not as long as Sergei got what he came here for. Once the body was tied down spread-eagle over the alter, the dark sorcerer approached with an arthame and a tiny black book.

Sergei kept his distance from the blasphemer. He respected the man for being bred and raised in Moscow. Nonetheless, he also despised his heretical ways even as he took advantage of them.

With arthame in hand, words falling from his lips that grated on Sergei’s every nerve, the sorcerer began to cut markings into Kennedy’s chest and abdomen.

This, the sorcerer had earlier explained to Sergei, would ascertain that Kennedy’s soul went straight to Hell instead of anywhere else. Without this offering of a soul, the evocation ritual was useless. With the flavor of Lust and suffering added like sauce, they would surely pique the interest of some powerful Lord in the Underworld.

It felt like a small century before the sorcerer finally slit open Kennedy’s throat. There was a wet gurgle as the whore tried to take his last breath. His last exhale began, a fluid and nasal sound…

~::~

Leon Scott Kennedy was twenty-four years old and on his way to Russia to investigate the disappearance of a senator and his family.

It being January, however, and Russia being Russia, a sudden blizzard blew through that forced his jet to make an emergency landing in a tiny adjacent country called Eastern Slav Republic. His pilots told him that they could be grounded for days. Their best hope was that the storm would blow over or they would have to try and go around it and come up on the other side.

“For now,” Leon was told, “It’s best that you find a hotel and hunker down.”

Leon was not pleased with this setback _at all_. He didn’t much care for the senator, but his wife and children were caught in the crosshairs. Leon hated the idea of them getting hurt to the point where his chest felt hot and tight.

He wanted to argue that Russia was fucking massive and they should be able to at least get some kind of vehicle to drive through the storm straight for Kyzyl where the family was reportedly being held hostage, or just change the angle of their entry into the country, but they showed him satellite imaging of the storm and he had to agree that they would need a tank at best to get through that shitshow. There was a reason the Germans had failed to infiltrate Russia during WWII in the winter months.

At least, where they were on the border of Eastern Slav Republic, the weather was decent. Cold with a light, glittering curtain of snow coming down that inspired thoughts of wonder instead of terror.

But, fuck, he had really wanted to push through. There were _kids_ involved.

He managed to least give the jet crew a courteous farewell before he scowled his way to a currency exchange station in the airport and then into a taxi. He asked to get dropped off at the nearest hotel.

The taxi drove off immediately and he realized, after a moment, that this was a bad idea. The main dialect in Eastern Slav Republic was Russian, followed by Ukrainian, so said the pilots before they sent him off without them. Those were two languages he knew nothing about.

Fortunately, the driver appeared to know enough English to get him to a hotel. Leon had managed to exchange his American currency for Russian rubles, so he gave the driver a tip for having to deal with his English and his bad attitude.

Just… shit. The kids.

Leon knew just what bruises looked like on a child. Knew how it felt to be small and at the mercy of a sadistic adult. His dad had been a cop, after all, with all the immunities the police force gave to cops. Leon had been so _inspired_ by his father that he had decided to join law enforcement just to prove that there was such a thing as a good cop.

That hadn’t gone well. He hadn’t even gotten to wear his badge for a day before Racoon City happened and then the government forced his loyalty by dangling Sherry Birkin under his nose. He had been in the US-STRATCOM ever since. How long ago had been Racoon City? Three years now?

Leon felt so old. Life continued to not treat him kindly, even as an adult.

There were minutes where he did not even enter the hotel, standing instead just outside. He tipped his head back, eyes closed, and let snowflakes kiss his tired eyes and dry lips, gentler with him than his father had ever been. His mother? A shadow of herself until she had committed suicide when Leon had been in middle school. She couldn’t escape her monster of a husband and she couldn’t live with him, so she had fallen back on her contingency plan. All Leon had gotten was a little note apologizing for leaving him behind.

Sometimes, Leon missed his mother so much that he wanted to cry. To the day she had taken her own life, she had loved him and treated with every bit of gentleness left in her frail, starved body.

Strange, how the snow reminded him of her. As if each snowflake melting on his cheeks were her tears.

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?” Leon righted himself, looking down. His eyes widened at the attractive man next to him.

He had thick, dark hair and a scruffy jaw, a complexion that was darker than Leon’s own pale flesh and eyes like fluid mercury. He sat in a wheelchair and was bundled up with a cargo jacket and an incredibly thick, fluffy white scarf with a throw blanket spread over his legs and lap. He was simultaneously handsome and adorable. “I’m fine,” he told the stranger. And then, because that deep, thickly accented English did something to him, he added, “And you?”

The stranger frowned at him, sharp eyebrows scrunching together. “And me?”

Leon pondered if the man’s English was limited. “Are you alright?” he asked the stranger. Why did he ask that?

Now one of those dark eyebrows shot up. “I am not the one blocking the sidewalk.”

“Oh.” Leon stepped back toward the curb. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

A peek of a smile graced the man’s face. “You were enjoying the snow?”

“Something like that.”

The stranger’s eyes glanced from Leon to the hotel he was standing on front of. “Your accent. American?”

“Yeah,” Leon answered. “I’m guessing you’re native to this area.”

“Very astute of you,” the stranger drawled. “You do not have any bags with you, American. And you look far too tired to be enjoying yourself. You are not a tourist.”

“You must be a detective,” Leon snarked. And then, because he didn’t want this cute guy to think he was an asshole – yet – “No, I’m not a tourist. I’m on a… business trip. There’s a storm ahead, though, so my flight had to make an emergency landing.”

The stranger eyed him from the top of his head to the tip of his boots. “Business can be lonely,” he said. That heated gaze wandered back to Leon’s. “Perhaps you would like some company for the night, American?”

Leon squinted at him. “Are you a prostitute?”

The man’s eyes bugged out of his skull, mouth dropping open. “Am I a – _what_?”

“Shit,” Leon hissed to himself. “Sorry. It just – seemed like you were… flirting there for a moment.”

The man was wearing thin grey gloves and he pushed his gloved hands against his temples now, as if to stave off a migraine. “Do you really believe that the only reason one might flirt with you is for _money_?”

Leon made a production of checking traffic behind him, as if he was expecting someone. The streets were empty. It was late and the town they had landed in had a small population.

“That is sad,” the stranger said with actual sincerity.

Leon’s face flushed darkly. There was no turning around now and impressing this guy, he decided. “I have to check in,” he told the stranger. “It’s getting colder and you should get home.”

He only made it two steps toward the hotel when the stranger replied, “Prostitute comment aside – my offer still stands. I will not bed down in a hotel when my home is not far from here, though. Walk with me.”

There was little more that he could do but obey, lured by the promise of something intimate with someone he was actually attracted to. He hadn’t had sex – no – he hadn’t been touched – he didn’t like thinking about this – he hadn’t… _done anything_ … Nothing had been done to him since he moved away from his father at age seventeen when he had finally scraped together enough to move to a different town and inhabit his own tiny hovel of an apartment. The idea of sex had appealed to him more than once since leaving, but he had never felt safe enough to act on his urges.

For some reason, with this man, Leon believed that that was about to change. He was loathe to admit that it might be because the man did not appear capable of running after him and holding him down if Leon changed his mind – that _sounded_ like a shitty thing to think, much less say – and yet it was also something about those mercurial eyes and that scruffy chin and that fluffy white scarf that imbued a sense of absolute comfort in Leon.

He followed.

“My name is Leon,” he told the stranger.

“Just Leon?”

“Leon Kennedy.”

“No middle name?”

“Scott.”

The man paused in rolling forward to reach across his body and offer his hand to shake. Leon did so as if this was a business formality and not a tentative promise of a hookup.

“Hello, Leon Scott Kennedy,” the stranger greeted. “My name is Alexander Igorevich Kozechenko.” He looked up at Leon. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

~:::~

Something happened during the three days Leon was grounded where his agency called him and said that his mission was being canceled. He wasn’t able to get a lot of details, but the family had been retrieved by other means. They had left Kyzyl by vehicle out of the storm’s range and then been picked up from Kansk.

Leon was being told to return home.

To Leon, this was both good and awful news.

For the past three days, he had been with Alexander, only leaving to reconvene with the jet crew and get a status report. Where his father had taught him pain, Alexander showed him a whole new world of pleasure and gentleness, intimacy so freely given that Leon was overwhelmed by it. He understood that this had only been meant as a hookup, that Alexander – or Sasha as he said Leon could call him – probably didn’t want the American to stick around, but Leon felt a connection. A connection he was fully reluctant to leave unexplored.

Or maybe he was obsessed with Sasha now. He wasn’t sure. What he was certain about was that Sasha had ruined him for anyone else in the best way possible. Sex with Sasha was fun and new and invigorating. Leon had learned for the first time what it meant to relish having a selfless and experienced lover. Not only that, but Sasha was a good man. He shared his meals with Leon and discussed his life’s work with him, telling him that he was a primary school teacher and that he taught reading, writing, and English. Sasha even shared Christmas with him. Apparently, Eastern Slav Republic went by the Gregorian calendar instead of the Julian calendar and so Christmas fell on January 7th instead of December 25th. Alexander had gifted him with the giant fluffy scarf he had worn the night they met, admitting that he had noticed Leon’s interest in it. He had not had time to get him anything, so Sasha hoped that the scarf would make a rememberable gift for the American. Leon had been so moved that he had demanded to know what he could give Sasha in return.

“Your company has been enough,” Sasha had told him. After constant badgering and a dark scowl from Leon, however, he had acquiesced and Leon had given the single most enjoyable blowjob of his life. He hadn’t thought it was possible to have fun while choking on another man’s cock, but Sasha was so excessive with his praise and pet names, his hands so gentle as he tenderly stroked Leon’s hair from his face, that Leon had all but been driven to madness to drink Sasha’s cum like expensive wine.

Now it looked like he had an hour before his jet took off and brought him back to the States. He wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t even sure how to say goodbye. Did he… thank Alexander for his time? That might circle back to the prostitute comment he had made when they first met. Did he just leave? If he gave Alexander his number, would the man be able to call him, much less willing to?

“You seem troubled, darling boy,” Alexander noted, wheeling into the bedroom. He had been making lunch while Leon had been on the phone. Sasha studied him closely. “You must leave soon?” he guessed.

“Real soon,” Leon grunted. He put his phone on the bed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m airborne in an hour.”

Alexander’s gaze flittered to his lap. After some time of deliberation, he nodded to himself and then rolled to Leon’s side. He brought both of the agent’s hands into his own and then pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Come back to me as soon as business allows you,” he told Leon. “If possible, I would like your number, so that we may stay in touch.”

“I’ll be in the States,” Leon somehow managed to complain, even though he was getting everything he wanted. “The phone bill’s going to be a bitch.”

Alexander pulled Leon’s arms about his shoulders, prompting the agent to slip into his lap. Leon threw his legs over one arm of the chair and pressed a sloppy kiss behind Alexander’s ear.

“Let me worry about my bills,” Alexander told him, arm coming around Leon’s waist like an iron band. “Would you like to give me your number?”

Leon nodded wordlessly against the other man’s throat. “I’d like that a lot. Nice to know that I made an impression on you.”

“Hah, yes.” Alexander’s other hand came up his neck and then tangled in his hair. There was quiet for an unchecked amount of time. Leon enjoyed the scent of cinnamon sugar and fabric softener that was Sasha. “I want you to understand that I want you for more than your body.” Alexander pressed a kiss to his head. “Have you heard that the eyes are the window to the soul?”

“Once or twice,” Leon answered, tongue peeking between his lips to drag at his lover’s pulse. It jumped beneath his touch, exciting him despite the fact that he needed to leave _immediately_ or else piss off the jet crew.

“Your soul calls to me,” Alexander told him. “Perhaps you were even meant for me.”

Leon chuffed. “Soulmates, Sasha? Really? Isn’t it a little too early for _that_ kind of talk?”

“Maybe I will bring it back up in time,” he allowed. “When you are ready.”

Leon eventually and unwillingly left Sasha and Eastern Slav Republic.

~::::~

In 2005, Eastern Slav Republic legalized same-sex marriage, much to the horror of its neighboring countries and to the relief of many others. Leon and Alexander were among the first at the alter. Now married to a native of Eastern Slav Republic, Leon was granted a temporary residence permit and was allowed to apply for dual citizenship. He signed his last name as Kozachenko.

He had always hated being a Kennedy.

On their wedding night, Sasha asked him if he was happy.

“I am,” Leon told him.

Alexander shook his head, studying him closely. “No, you are not. I can see it.”

Leon shrugged and turned his head toward the pillow. Their bodies were cooling after their shared bliss. His ass was a splattered mess of lube and cum and he rubbed his thighs together just to hear it squelch.

“I’m happy with you,” Leon eventually amended, and that was true.

Alexander laid back with a curious hum. “That is a start.” His arm came around Leon’s shoulders and pulled him close.

~:::::~

In 2006, Leon changed his permanent address to Eastern Europe instead of the States. US-STRATCOM had no leverage to keep him as Sherry was a full-grown adult.

“Are you happy?” Alexander asked him, making breakfast on the first day they _officially_ lived together.

“I am,” Leon answered, practically poured into his seat at the kitchen table. His was the only seat at the table. Alexander stayed on his wheels and chairs for guests were kept in the corridor closet where they were out of Alexander’s way.

Alexander put some kasha and sliced fruits on the table. His mercurial eyes did not just look at Leon, they stared directly into him. “You are not,” he said, and wheeled himself around the table and back to the counter to grab his own serving of kasha.

“I am!” Leon rebuked. Then he toyed with his kasha, unable to look at Alexander. “I thought I would die fighting bio-organic weapons,” he admitted. “Now I’m out of the business and I… I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t be your househusband. I don’t know what it’s like to do nothing and I don’t think I can be happy doing nothing.” He glanced at his husband. “But I’m happy with you.”

Alexander grabbed one of the legs of Leon’s chair and pulled them closer together – a combination of Leon sliding closer and Leon’s denser mass causing Alexander’s chair to slide toward him even though the wheels were locked in place. “That is a start,” Sasha allowed, and he pressed a toothpaste-sharp kiss to Leon’s gloss-slick lips.

~::::::~

Only a few weeks later, Leon wondered aloud if he would be any good in auto repair. Alexander managed to garner him an internship with a local garage that dealt with street show restoration. Fourteen months into his internship, the garage offered to employ him and he accepted.

“Are you happy?” Alexander asked him after Leon gave him the news. He watched Leon with sharp eyes.

Leon reflected on his life and how far he had come. “I am.” Leon realized, grinning like he felt he had never done before. “I really am…” The feeling was so strange to him, this total happiness, that he had to pause and ruminate on what had changed. “It’s all thanks to you. I’m so fucking glad I have you.” Alexander was sitting in the living room at his desk, grading homework. Leon crossed the room to assault the man with kisses.

When he pulled back, panting, excited about his life – for fucking once! – and excited at the prospect of celebrating with fewer clothes on, he found Alexander to be studying him.

At last, Alexander nodded. “You really are happy.” He tangled a hand in Leon’s hair and dragged him back for another long, raunchy kiss of lips and tongue and teeth. “I am glad,” he told Leon. “I have wanted this for you for a very, very long time.”

They retreated quickly to the bedroom and Leon claimed his throne atop Alexander’s thighs, bouncing with much more energy than usual on his husband’s cock.

The universe was actually letting him be happy. It was almost too much to believe. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he had died and gone to heaven.

~:::::::~

The sacrifice’s dying breath sputtered to an end.

As Sergei watched, the ground before his feet began to crumble open…

~:::::::~

That night, Leon woke up to the realization that he was no longer in bed with his husband.

He was still in their bedroom, but the creature he was pressed against was not the Alexander he was familiar with.

His first thought was that it was a very large Licker. It had the strong, long forearms and clawed paws of the B.O.W., the lipless and fanged mouth, and even the narrow barrel chest with a dainty waist. Its overly large brain matter was exposed just like a Licker and it had no facial extremities like ears or a nose.

However, there were small differences. This monster had no legs, its bodies ending in a U-shape that followed the general structure of a pelvis, and a crown of glowing red eyes went around its head just under the brain matter and above its wide mouth.

It petted Leon’s back with the dangerous talons of its right paw.

 _It is still night_ , the creature said, except its mouth only made a hissing sound. It was as if its voice was projected directly into Leon’s head. _You should be asleep_.

The voice was Alexander’s.

Leon relaxed against the monster’s side. “I get it,” he said. “I’m sleeping right now.”

The monster did not speak for some time. Leon, believing he was dreaming, licked curiously at a slick, rubbery bicep. Like a Licker, Alexander was skinless and his musculature was bared to his husband.

This dream-Sasha, this monster-Sasha, tasted like iron and grill smoke on Leon’s tongue.

 _What if I told you that you are in Hell?_ The monster asked.

Leon snorted. “I would have believed you if you told me that seven years ago. Life’s been good to me, though.”

_You believe that Hell cannot be good to you?_

“Goes against what’s in all the bibles, at least.”

_Says the man who despise all Tolkien movies._

“What does Tolkien have to do with this?”

 _You will not watch the_ Hobbit _trilogy because it is not true to the book!_

“Why even base a movie off a book if you’re not going to follow the storyline?” Leon griped. “The movies are shit.”

 _You cannot trust humans to stay true to a source that exists now,_ the monster surmised. _Why would you trust humans to stay true to a source they have not heard from in thousands of years?_

Leon admitted that this dream Sasha had a point. Nonetheless, he figured that he himself could not be wrong about this. “Everyone’s pretty clear on Hell being a bad place for bad people.”

 _So says everyone who has never been to Hell._ The monster turned on its side and its giant talons cradled Leon close. _Hell is a business like any other_ , Sasha explained logically. _A government, if you will. A system that operates to help those in need as well as to punish those who have done wrong._

“Wouldn’t the system that operates to help those in need be Heaven?” Leon quarried.

 _If Heaven existed,_ Alexander supposed. His tone of voice suggested that such a place did not.

Leon sorted. “Alright. Let’s say I’m in Hell. That would mean I’m dead. When did I die? A year ago? A hundred? A _thousand_?”

 _This is not the realm of the living. Time is a social construct created by your kind and it does not exist here. We choose how fast or slow the clock turns._ Sasha turned his monstrous head over his shoulder and Leon followed his many gazes to the bedroom window. The curtains were drawn, but a sliver of the night was still visible. As they watched, the window brightened with morning light, and then with afternoon sunshine, and then with red twilight. Instead of continuing into the night, the show of passing time reversed from twilight to afternoon to morning and then to night.

_Your heart has only now stopped. Your last breath has just left your lungs. Your body is still warm. The sorcerer leaning over you has not even blinked yet. Vladimir has not yet exhaled._

“The sorcerer,” Leon repeated. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Who’s Vladimir?”

_You thought B.O.W.’s would take your life. You were almost right._

Leon opened his eyes and it was morning. Light danced on slim rays of sunshine that slipped between their heavy cream curtains.

The bed was empty. Distantly, he heard Alexander making coffee.

Distracted, Leon completed his morning stretches and exercises and then took his shower. With a towel draped dangerously low over his hips, he wandered to the kitchen and leaned against the archway. There were several questions he wanted to ask Alexander, some of them so wild that just thinking them made him feel insane. “Do you think Heaven exists?” he asked the real Sasha after some internal debate.

Sasha paused between sips of coffee. He was, at first, heatedly studying Leon’s bare flesh. He seemed to find Leon’s rosy nipples a good focus point as he considered his husband’s inquiry.

“I do not believe that there is a place called Heaven,” he eventually answered. “Only that there are places where you can create your own heaven.”

Leon nodded, finding that that was a reasonable and relatable answer. He nudged the knot of his towel against the archway, prompting it to slip to the floor. Alexander sputtered on his next sip of coffee, a dripple of it sliding down his chin.

“I know a place where we can start,” Leon told him, smirking. He kicked the towel out of the way so that nothing would pause Alexander in following him back to the bedroom.

~::::::::~

The dreams of the monster came every night from then. Every night, the monster explained some new aspect of the afterlife to him.

Heaven did not exist. All deities were one deity and that deity was all deities in one. That collective force of power had died birthing the universe from a tiny seed at the beginning of time and they would be born again when the universe gave its last breath. The death of the first living creatures had given way to the Lords and demons that ran Hell. Jesus was misremembered. No bible was true to his words and there were grains of truth in every bible – from the Christian text to the Buddhist practices to the Quran and onward. In every religion that set Heaven and Hell opposite of one another, no matter the names they were given – and the monster was very clear about this – _Heaven did not exist_. It was only that humans had the pesky habit of wanting to distinguish between good and bad and failed continuously to recognize that in death, such as in life, the good and the bad came together. Hell was this joint body of punishment and pleasure.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Leon at last asked, and it seemed that his hands kept wandering further and further down the monster’s chest, over Sasha’s abdomen, toward the sheath-like structure at the apex of his hips. Every night, he was closer to cheating on his husband with this creature and, every night, in his dreams, he found that he was okay with that because this _was_ his husband.

Sasha, the monster, told him, _You are due for a_ great _deal of pleasure. Not only that, you are due retribution._

“Revenge?” Leon questioned. He thought of his father.

The monster, and Leon fully believed by this point that it could read his thoughts, said _Not only him._

“Then who?” The American Government? Umbrella? Every B.O.W. that had ever been created? He recalled a name this demon had said once. “Vladimir? I don’t even know a Vladimir.”

Leon’s fingers teased over the sheath, a hungry gasp leaving him as he felt the tip of wet, spongy flesh against his palm. The monster’s cock was peaking free of its pouch.

 _It is easier for you that you not remember._ The monster rolled over, legless hips between Leon’s spread thighs, his cock completely free of its sheath. It _plopped_ wetly over Leon’s own cock, straining past even his belly button and pornographically thick in girth. Because Leon was dreaming, he knew that he would be able to take every last inch of it if Sasha would let him. All the monster had to do was rock back far enough to align that dick with Leon’s ass and this fantasy would be perfect.

Leon closed his eyes, preparing for ecstasy as the monster hissed above him. Sasha shifted his torso, balancing the weight of his body on his massive arms, until his cockhead slid down Leon’s body. He dragged it over the crease between his genitals and thigh and then humped lazily between his buttocks.

Leon woke up groaning, hips swiveling in the air.

“A good dream?” Alexander asked, sitting in the doorway and drinking his coffee.

Leon swallowed thickly.

In his dreams, he was excited by the prospect of fucking that monster. In reality, the feeling followed. That monster was Sasha and Leon wanted his husband any way he could have him.

“Very good,” Leon said, though the dreams always felt more like a lesson in philosophy rather than a lusty escapade, even with the sexual tension that was growing between him and the demon. He kicked off the blankets and rolled to his knees on the bed, proud erection facing his husband. “Wouldn’t mind reenacting parts of it,” he drawled.

He watched victoriously as Alexander rolled over to put his coffee on the bedside table and then hoisted himself onto the bed. “Please,” Alexander prompted. “Show me how your dream went.”

~:::::::::~

Leon opened his eyes and the monster was crouched over him, massive paws and pelvis caging Leon in at three points.

“What are you waiting for?” Leon asked, hands gliding up muscle-slick arms.

 _Permission_ , the monster said. _Always your permission._

Leon managed to get some wriggle room between them only to squirm out from under the blankets, out of his boxer briefs and his shirt, and then to throw his clothing over the side of the bed. He settled back into the mattress with legs splayed open, hands above his head.

“Will you use your tongue first?” Leon petted his own hair, soothing himself. He wasn’t afraid, wasn’t unwilling, but so excited that his hips were already gyrating against the monster’s sheath. He watched avidly as a hot pink cock slipped free, flopping over under the force of gravity and splatting wetly over Leon’s belly. Leon himself was an average-sized guy in the dick arena and Sasha’s penis completely eclipsed him.

 _Do you want my tongue_? The monster’s jaw dropped open and his tongue lolled out, versatile and strong and longer than Leon’s entire body. The muscle was scratchy, circling Leon’s ankle like a cat’s tongue, and goosebumps formed on his skin as that sandpapery appendage dragged up his inner calf, under his knee, and then down his inner thigh. There, it paused. Leon realized that Sasha was waiting for an answer.

“Yeah…” He pulled at his hair, liking how it felt. “I want your tongue.”

The pink muscle flicked at his penis, his sac just beneath it, and Leon felt his genitals jump at the gentle and rough touch. It wormed between his buttocks and Leon let go of his hair only to helpfully pull his cheeks apart, reaching under his thighs to do so.

 _Do you want my tongue here?_ The tongue pressed against his anus, rolling over itself and squirming in an alien, arousing way.

“Yeah, I want, want it there…”

Maybe this was a dream, but this was 100% his husband. Nothing drove Alexander crazier than verbal consent. Leon hadn’t realized that that was a kink until Sasha. However, there was no denying that the monster was beginning to grind against him, copious amounts of pre-cum squirting out of his large cock and creating a puddle on Leon’s belly, and that was pretty much the same reaction Leon got from his husband in the waking world too whenever Leon had to all but beg for what he wanted.

Alexander had once said, “It reassures me on a primal level that you want me and you want what we do together.”

Weird as fuck. Leon thought bondage would have been more normal, but, what the hell. He loved Alexander and Alexander loved him. If Sasha, both in the real world and in this dream world, liked to hear how badly Leon wanted him, then, fine. Leon would let them know.

 _My tongue_ is _here_ , the monster purred. _Do you want my tongue inside of you?_ He pressed down on Leon’s perineum, tongue rolling up on itself so that the rough surface scratched endlessly over the sensitive flesh.

“Yes!”

_Yes… what?_

“Yes, inside. Your tongue, fuck, please.”

 _If that is what you want._ This monster wasn’t capable of smiling, of smirking, but Leon felt that he was all the same.

He groaned from the bottom of his diaphragm as the pointed tip of the monster’s tongue prodded at his ass and began to wiggle inside like a living thing, setting off confused pleasure throughout his entire body. Once the tip was inside, the considerable rest followed and the slight euphoria Leon felt grew into something toe-curling and _dangerous_. Half of his brain distractedly wondered, _‘How long is my intestine again?’_ and the rest of his foggy mind truly believed that the monster’s tongue was going to keep going until it slithered out of Leon’s own mouth. Could he survive that?

Of course he could. This was just a dream. This wasn’t even real.

The reminder relaxed him and he gave into rolling his hips toward the tongue. It had incredible length and its unique sandpapery texture sent shivers up and down his spine. One hand tangled in his hair, the other trickled down his body and pulled at his dick, thumb rubbing against his glans.

“H-hey…” He tugged at his balls and gave the base of his cock a squeeze as Sasha wriggled against his prostate.

_Hm?_

“If there’s no… no Heaven… doesn’t that mean… there’s no Hell?”

_There is Hell. It is not the Hell you were educated on is all._

Alexander not only double-downed on Leon’s prostate, he fucking _quadrupled-down_ , his tongue folded over as many times and rolling against the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Oh, _fuck_ , yesss…” His heels dug into the bed, hips clear off the bed, as he gyrated on the intrusive appendage.

 _My darling boy_ , Sasha purred. _You will never know how glad I am that I made you mine before anyone else could snatch you up._

“No one else likes me as much as you do!” His voice was shrill, ass clenching around Sasha’s tongue, abdomen trembling. The pressure was building, his prostate throbbing –

_How wrong you are, my darling boy. How very wrong you are._

“Now!” Leon pushed at Sasha’s skull. “Fuck me now.”

_I am fucking you._

“I want your dick.”

_My brat is demanding._

It felt like a small century as Sasha slurped his tongue back into his mouth. Thank fuck this was just a dream. Leon was sure that would be disgusting with how deep into his intestines Sasha had just ventured.

“You like it when I tell you what I want,” Leon pointed out. “You love it when I tell you how much I want you. I want you _bad_ , babe.”

The monster made a crackling noise of pleasure as he righted his body between Leon’s splayed thighs. Leon reached between them, a helpful lover, and he kissed Sasha’s cockhead to his winking asshole, lining them up.

He threw his head back, spine bridging off the mattress, as Sasha sank into him. This, he decided, was absolute proof that the demon and his strange conversations about religion were dreams. There was no way Leon would have been able to sink so effortlessly onto such a huge cock in reality. There was no pain, only the pleasurable burn of being stretched and filled, and Leon writhed as he was speared alive. His belly gurgled as everything was shifted, his abdomen rippling. He planted his hands on incredibly wide forearms, feeling muscles under his palms like steel beams.

When at last he was flush against Sasha’s pelvis, his body went limp in defeat.

_Is this what you wanted?_

“Uh huh… Mm hmm…”

_Touch yourself._

Weakly, he tugged at his cock.

The monster growled with ecsasy, all red glowing eyes focused on him.

_Are you happy?_

“Yes!”

Alexander crouched over his body, hips swiveling into Leon’s unresisting body. Leon’s entire frame moved with each thrust, his ass becoming so slick with saliva and pre-cum that a symphony of _schlick – schlick – schlick_ accompanied every tiny movement of Sasha’s hellish and deliriously good dick.

_I have seen to your pleasure. Now, it is time for your retribution._

“Don’t stop…” Leon hiccuped, Sasha’s large girth pressing down on his prostate and plunging beyond. “I don’t need… don’t need it. Don’t need retribution. Need – you!” Leon’s hand was flying over his cock, pre-cum making the way slick. His body and their bed swayed and the hot tension in Leon’s belly was tangling itself tighter and tighter.

 _As if I would ever give you up._ Alexander even snorted in that familiar way he felt Leon had said something ludicrous. _Have both, my darling boy._

Leon’s breathing see-sawed, the muscles of his neck taut, and his chest was flushed a bright red. He slapped a hand against Alexander’s barrel chest and then wrapped his palm around the back of his thick, muscled neck. “Tell me you love me,” Leon demanded.

 _I love you,_ the demon told him instantly, honestly. His narrow waist bowed toward Leon, the exposed muscles of his arms trembling, and Leon _screamed_ as Sasha plunged up toward his belly button. He choked on his own noises as he saw the bulge of the demon’s cockhead through his own flesh. Sasha released his own victorious hiss. _I am very much in love with you. You are mine for the rest of time._

“Tell me you’re mine too.”

Now the demon hesitated. Leon supposed it meant something different when a demon gave themselves over to a mere mortal.

At last, Alexander murmured, quiet even in Leon’s own mind, _I am yours. For all of time._ And Leon knew that he was telling the truth.

His orgasm spurted over his torso, his eyes squeezing shut as pleasure pulsed through him. And then he woke up.

For a strange twist of events, he was curled around his sleeping husband. Alexander was always out of bed and in the kitchen before Leon opened his eyes.

He looked serious in his sleep, Leon supposed. His eyebrows were puckered together, his mouth a sloping downward bow. His lips were slightly parted and he had one hand curled at his chin while his other had loped around Leon to rest over his ribs. What was Sasha dreaming about that looked so difficult? He appeared to be in the middle of an intense mental exercise.

Leon shifted and he felt Alexander’s morning wood pressed against his belly like an iron bar. As if sensing that he was being watched, Sasha’s dark lashes fluttered open. Those fluid grey eyes looked hazily into Leon’s, a sleep-dopey grin pulling at his mouth.

“Ah,” he greeted. “Good morning, my darling boy.”

“And a good morning to you too,” Leon grunted in turn. “Have a good dream?” He drifted his inner wrist over the tent in his husband’s pajama pants and pressed a kiss to his husband’s temple. “Was I in it?”

“Mm.” Alexander ran a hand through his bedhead, his other pushing at the waistband of his slacks so that Leon could get a grip on his hot length. “You are always in my dreams.” He kissed Leon on the mouth despite the fact that they both had horrid morning breath.

Leon supposed that that was the truest form of love.

~::::::::::~

Now it was time for retribution.

The scent of fire and brimstone and, somehow, _ice_ fumed from the broken earth, and from the red-glowing crevices clawed free dozens of skinless creatures that looked exactly like Lickers.

Sergei thought to himself, with disappointment, _‘Ah. We already made those.’_ But then he pondered, _‘Does the devil come to us wearing a familiar mask?’_ As he ruminated over this philosophy, his comrades and the dark sorcerer were run down, their clothing torn from their bodies, and the screams and sobs of victims rang around him like church bells. He quarried about this as well, that these beasts from Hell would drive through the earth’s very crust to assault his comrades with such furious lust instead of outright killing or otherwise torturing them.

His eyes travelled to the sacrifice. It appeared that the flavors of Lust, humiliation, and suffering had summoned a very specific creature indeed.

As he watched mercenaries weep and the sorcerer choke on demon tongues, he became aware that he himself remained unmolested.

That was interesting.

He folded his hands behind his back, scimitar aligned with his spine, and waited at parade rest for the demon he could hear still scratching and sniffling its way to Sergei’s realm of existence.

The monster that at last emerged was much greater in size than any Licker he had before seen and had no legs. Instead, the bottom of its torso was curved in a U that followed the shape of a pelvis and it lifted itself up on arms as thick as tree trunks and only slightly shorter than Sergei’s entire body. Under its naked brain matter was a ring of glowing red eyes and they all focused on him.

The beast had the same lipless snarl as a Licker, and it appeared to scowl even more deeply as they stared at one another.

Sergei cocked his head. “Were you not pleased with our offering?”

This made the demon snarl.

“Fine, fine.” He bobbled his head as he considered his options. “Now that we know there is something true to this black magic, I suppose we shall try again. Would you like to tell me what _would_ please you?”

After all, the cost of manufacturing just one Licker was quite high, and funds were being funneled into the Tyrant Project. Whether the design of Lickers had been inspired by hellish divinity or whether hellish divinity had been inspired by Lickers, it did not matter to him. There were far more of the monsters summoned by one inconsequential body than Umbrella had ever been able to produce with its formidable financial backing.

The trick at this point, he decided, was only getting the demons to obey. What was one hundred bodies if each could be replaced by such a strong and fearsome weapon? What was one hundred bodies if they could control just _one_? Bodies were many, the human race was vast, and Sergei was willing to round the proverbial cattle up himself if need be to assuage this demonic power.

Anything for Umbrella.

Anything for the Motherland.

What was his own soul even worth in the face of such total destruction?

Around him, the screams and wailing of the violated and assaulted had died to low whimpers and shattered groans. Dead eyes all about. Weak wills everywhere.

The monster walked on its tremendous front paws, its dangerous talons tearing the earth apart beneath it. It laid on one hip at the side of the alter, lifting a hand with its leathery palm facing up. As if by magic, a thick, white fluffy scarf appeared in its claws and it draped the scarf over the whore’s corpse.

“C-Colonel…”

Sergei glanced to the side. A mercenary was trying to claw across the dirt toward him while being brutally assaulted by the talons of a demon. The mercenary reached for him with a frail hand. “K-kill me… P-please…”

“Mm. No.” Sergei turned away, ignoring the crying man. “That would be a waste of my energy. You will either live or die in time.”

“P-p-p-p…” And the mercenary died. Likely internal bleeding, Sergei decided. Those talons were not intended for anal play.

They were all dying. Some slowly and some quickly. Some by the way their bodies were being roughly and inconsiderately treated and others by their own desperate devices. A survey of the clearing proved that very few still had the will to fight, and the more they fought, the more demons they attracted. His Ivans were completely hidden from sight by raveling pink and red muscled beasts, their considerable strength overrun by sheer quantity.

The dark sorcerer, Sergei noted, looked quite ugly on hands and knees. A very old man. He would certainly not survive.

He turned his attention back to the demon he believed to be in charge of these ruffians. Its head was turned toward him.

 _Вы_ _будете_ _жить_ , Sergei heard in his head, spoken by a deep, rough voice. – _You will live. –_

“Ah!” Sergei grinned. “A son of the Motherland. Greetings. For my life, I imagine you will want something in return.”

For a creature without lips, Sergei still got the impression that the beast smiled at him. Perhaps a very cruel smile, but a smile nonetheless. This was the sort of hostility that Sergei appreciated, that backhanded amusement that crushed skulls under boot and conspired to burn the world. He never got to enjoy this sort of attitude with Wesker and his dear Nicholai was always smartly out of his reach and unavailable to share such mean familiarity.

 _Мы_ _встретимся_ _снова_. – _We will meet again._ –

“That sounds like a threat, comrade.”

 _Это обещание._ – _This is a promise._ –

“A promise, you say? It is always important to keep your promises. Is this a promise you are certain you want to make?”

 _Да._ – _Yes._ –

“Hm.” His thumb played over the edge of one blade, slicing the pad open. He focused on that sting, on the warm trickle of blood, as his temper began to flare. Pain was good. Pain was centering. It was important to Sergei that no one see him lose his temper. “Is that to say that you are not willing to make a trade? What will it take Hell to give us a morsel of power? A single demon?”

 _Демонов_ _не_ _дано._ – _Demons are not given._ –

The whore’s body caught on fire, such a pure and blazing white that Sergei had to squint his eyes and turn his face away.

 _Люди даны._ – _Humans are given._ –

When he dared to turn his head toward the dwindling flames, he found that the beast was much closer than before. He could see his own scarred visage reflected in many small red eyes, on saliva-slick fangs.

The demon brought one talon to Sergei’s face and trailed it from his temple to his jaw. Its talon was sharper than Sergei could ever make his blades and the near intimate touch was followed by a flow of blood. Sergei’s lips twitched into a sneer at the audacity of the beast to impose upon his person. His own blood touched the corner of his mouth and he licked it away.

 _Ты_ _принадлежишь_ _мне._ – _You belong to me._ –

“I belong to my country and to my cause,” Sergei informed it coolly. He would have called upon his Ivans to take care of the beast were they not otherwise and completely occupied. “Unless you give me something in return, my soul is my own.”

 _Я имею._ – _I have._ – 

“What have you given me?”

The creature sheared Sergei’s hair as it gripped him by the skull and forced him to turn his head from side to side, to observe the landscape of torture and pain around him.

 _Время._ – _Time._ –

The creature forced Sergei to look up at it once more. Its mouth shuddered open, fangs connected with strings of spit, and it appeared to battle with itself for seconds on end whether or not to rescind its gift of life, jaw open wide enough to take Sergei’s entire face down its muscle-bound gullet. Sergei’s fists clamed down on his scimitar, no longer amused so much as grimly determined to leave this failed event with his head still attached.

Of course, as powerful as Sergei was, this beast had already proven to have power much greater than his own. No, he would not be leaving unless the monster allowed him to.

At last, the beast controlled itself and pulled its snarling jaws away. Every eye glared down at Sergei.

 _Наслаждайся этим._ – _Enjoy it._ –

With those words, every demon in the clearing released a hissing screech and galloped back into the hole in the earth. They clambered over shattered rock and soil and disappeared into the depths of Hell and their master more leisurely followed after them.

In all, the encounter could not have been more than ten minutes.

All of his mercenaries had been fucked to death and his Ivans limped back to his side. His tyrant clones were unable to understand pain and yet their expressions were set in confused discomfort all the same.

Sergei pulled his flask from under his jacket and took a long swig of vodka. He noted that all that was left of the fire the demon had set were ashes. Even the stone alter had been reduced to nothing.

The report for this incident was not going to be well-received.

“Rude,” Sergei muttered to no one. “That beast was rude.”

~:::::::::::~

In 2003, Albert Wesker killed Sergei Vladimir.

And for the rest of eternity, Albert Wesker continued to kill Sergei until the meaning of helplessness, of defeat, was branded into Sergei’s every thought. Until it came to be that he simply laid down and allowed the other man to kill him as he knew there was no way to escape the inescapable. Until he knew that he was finished and he could never win.

When at last he could fight back no longer, his will almost completely gone, a new character entered his dreaded existence.

It was something that looked like a man in a wheelchair, though it was not this in reality. The demon rolled to where Sergei laid next to the Red Queen.

“I kept my promise,” it informed him coolly. “Are you happy?”

Sergei, a mutated monster, continued to lay as if dead at the demon’s feet.

And he was dead. Though he was only sometimes aware of this. In this moment, however, the stranger was not speaking to a corpse so much as someone who was waiting without emotion to become a corpse.

The demon shook its head in disappointment. “I am wasting my valuable time giving you an audience and you cannot even spare me your attention when I speak to you. Fortunately, this is not the last day of your life. Eternity is quite long and you will be here even longer. I told you, once, that you were mine. This is how I will use you.”

“Then use me,” came Sergei’s voice. It was a whisper of sound, and yet more strength than he had shown in many cycles of fighting and losing. “Fuck me. Tear me apart. I take cock well, I swear it.”

The demon, who looked awfully mortal, scoffed. “That will not break you. You know it will not. Your body means little to you. It is simply a means by which you accomplish your goals.”

“Break my body,” Sergei pleaded in a thread of noise, still unmoving. “I will move. I will make it good for you.”

There was disdain on the demon’s face. “Why would I ever treat you so kindly?”

“Please,” Sergei whimpered. “It cannot end like this. Not like this. Not over and over again. I cannot bear it.”

There was a moment of silence. Wesker stood as still as a statue on the wraparound walkway, gun low at his hips. Wesker would kill him, no matter how fervently Sergei fought, and then he would watch as a specter while Wesker dismantled and destroyed everything he had worked toward with Umbrella. The failure of it, of his dreams and hard work disappearing with a single override code, then incinerated in an explosion, pressed on the cracked edges of his mind, exerting more and more force until he at last shattered.

Sex was easy. Even when he did not want it, sex was easy.

This was impossible. The odds were stacked against him, his fate foretold, and destiny set in stone. He was like an infant trying to stop his parent from taking away his favorite toy, helpless to stop it no matter how hard he tried.

Sergei had never felt so small and weak before.

“I am not done,” Sergei said. Begged. Tried to believe and failed. “I am not done… I am not done…”

The demon frowned at him. “No, not yet,” it agreed. “Begging proves that you have some strength left still. You will not last much longer.” Having seen what it wanted, or did not want, to see, the demon left him. It wheeled up the walkway, passing a frozen Wesker. As he did so, Wesker began to move, gun rising.

The fight was futile. Sergei would lose, Wesker would take everything from him. It was not unlike watching Wesker tear his newborn child from his arms for the hundredth time.

“Not like this,” Sergei whimpered, but did not have the strength of will to get up and fight again. Wesker was shooting him already as he laid prone. He would die soon, watch Wesker destroy what he loved, watch the facility go up in a mushroom of fire and smoke, and then it would all begin again.

And again.

And again.

For all eternity.

~::::::::::::~

Leon woke up and stretched his limbs across the mattress. He could hear Alexander in the kitchen setting out coffee and breakfast.

“Are you awake?” Alexander called.

“Mostly.” Leon rolled out of bed. He planted his hands on his lower spine and bent over backward until he was met with a satisfying _crack_. He meant to get to his exercises and then take his shower, but his dick was at attention and he was thinking that he might entice Alexander into helping him with a different kind of workout. He stripped out of his pajamas and padded into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take one of the most careful pisses of his life. After washing his hands, he meandered to the kitchen, cock in hand.

Alexander, predictably, sputtered into his coffee.

“Hey, hubby.” Leon smirked, giving his dick a languid tug. “You mind helping me out with something?”

Alexander’s tongue dragged over his bottom lip. “Whatever could that something be?”

“Follow me and find out.” Leon turned and headed back to the bedroom. He heard Alexander quickly put his coffee down and wheel after him.

Today, Leon decided, was great. It had only begun and he knew he was going to have a good day. He was almost sickened by his own optimism, but the truth was what it was.

It didn’t matter if Heaven or Hell existed as long as he got to have this for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by both AnotherAnon0 - who introduced me to Sergei and to several of the non-con elements that appeared in this story - and by the episode "The Secret War" of the TV show "Love, Death & Robots". 
> 
> In the episode, a cult attempted to summon demons with a human sacrifice to aid in a war in Siberia - I think it might have been WWII, but that detail is not important. What is important that the woman they used as a sacrifice was murdered and her naked corpse hung by ropes at her ankles and arms, her identity denied her as they had crossed her arms over her face, and the image has haunted me ever since I saw this episode. They successfully summoned demons, however - the demons turned on them and Siberia ended up having to fight in not only one war, but also a war against these hellish creatures. I've been thinking about that specifically, that they murdered and sacrificed a woman and denied her her identity and then THEY were punished by the demons instead of rewarded. 
> 
> I haven't figured out how to put my theory into words, but I started thinking that, by humiliating and sacrificing that poor woman, they actually gave her some sort of power over the demons and the demons got retribution for her.
> 
> Also, I was raised Wiccan and I identify as Wiccan and I wonder often about what the afterlife actually entails. I personally believe in reincarnation, but I like to play around with other theories as well.


End file.
